


i will sing no requiem tonight

by luminoussbeings



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (the MCD is just anakin btw), F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Past Relationship(s), Toxic Relationship, au where anakin dies during the clone wars and padme has to deal with complicated emotions, it's a commentary on the unhealthy nature of the relationship portrayed in canon, padme deserves better and i love her, tcw anidala is pretty fucked up when you look at it so this is my take on padme getting growth, this is NOT an anidala fic don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 01:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11302599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminoussbeings/pseuds/luminoussbeings
Summary: Anakin Skywalker is dead.All of Coruscant mourns the Hero With No Fear— except one.





	i will sing no requiem tonight

Obi-wan brought her the news.

Of course it was Obi-wan. Obi-wan, with those red-rimmed eyes and a practiced composure, bearing a steadfast posture and a proffered arm of consolation. She looked down at it, considering. His hand shook slightly. 

She opted to cross the room instead.

“What news,” Padme said flatly. It was a formality. They both knew why he was there.

“General Skywalker,” he began. Stopped. Padme didn’t turn, but she knew if she were to glance behind, she’d find his eyes closed, fingers pinched at the bridge of his nose as he drew a steadying breath. “General Skywalker is dead,” he managed.

Padme kept her gaze fixed on the window.

“It was Dooku,” he continued. “On Dellalt.” She could tell he was fighting to keep the emotion out of his voice. It wasn’t working. “The Separatists had the 501st surrounded for days. Their comms were down, supplies dwindling, but they were holding out. Making do. Anakin managed to fix a transponder, call for evac...” He trailed off. “They almost made it,” he said quietly, voice catching on the last word.

He kept talking, that honest voice passing over her and filling her office. It was as resonant and articulate as ever, even when wavering with barely suppressed sorrow. Padme thought distantly that he would’ve made a great senator. But perhaps not. She’d seen enough to realize that politics obliged for no good men.

Then again, the same could be said for war.

Obi-wan told her the rest of the story. Dooku, the aftermath, the Coruscant-wide memorial being planned.  Padme didn’t react. He could be telling her that the Republic was actually headed by an evil Sith lord, for all she knew; she’d stopped listening after those three words.

_Skywalker is dead._

The words fell flat in her mind, a heavy stone plunked into a pool. _Dead_.

She didn’t know why she was so surprised. Intellectually, she’d always known this day would come. In this terrible war, how could it not? Anakin was reckless. A risk taker. Always thinking with his lightsaber, never his head. Some of his gambles paid off; others, as she was keenly aware whenever that mechanical hand brushed against her skin, did not.

The Coruscant skyline stretched before her. Dusk began to fall, the sky peeking out between the buildings turning blood-red.

Padme pressed one finger to the glass. It wasn’t Anakin’s death that surprised her; that event had been foretold since the moment he stepped onto the royal cruiser under the aching Tatooine suns.

She’d just never expected to be alive to see it.

_Skywalker is dead._

Obi-wan crossed to her, his eyes brimming with sympathy. “Senator Amidala…” He blew out a long breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Padme.”

She recognized the weariness carved into the lines of his face, below his eyes, streaking his auburn hair with shots of gray; the same weariness greeted her from every mirror. She closed her eyes briefly, supposing that the war would let no one escape unmarked.

“I know it’s not … a perfect comparison,” Obi-wan said, choosing his words carefully, “but I want you to understand that I know how you feel.” He took her hand and looked her meaningfully in the eye. “I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you,” he said softly.

Something twisted in her gut. Obi-wan was trying his best, but he was wrong. He didn’t know. None of them did.

Padme broke away. “For _me?_ ” she asked, allowing a hint of a bemused, humorless laugh to seep into her voice. “Why, General Kenobi, I should be saying that to _you_.”

Obi-wan stepped back and looked at her blankly, confusion descending over his features. Padme felt a grim pleasure. _Good_.

“General Skywalker and I have been friends for years, as you know,” she continued, “but surely no ordinary friendship can compare to the bond between master and padawan?” She shook her head, voice sticky with sympathy. “You must be _devastated_. It’s like losing a child, is it not?”

Obi-wan stared at her, his eyes searching. Padme met his gaze. He knew about the marriage. He knew Padme knew that he knew. Now it was up to him to decide whether to call her out on it. She lifted an eyebrow in challenge. Obi-wan held her gaze for a moment longer before letting it slide away, heaving a deep sigh.

“Yes, of course,” he said, crumpling slightly, and Padme felt a rush of shame. She wasn’t being fair. It wasn’t Obi-wan’s fault.  The blame belonged to Anakin alone.

She placed an arm on his shoulder. “Obi-wan... I am _truly_ sorry for what you’ve lost,” she said, and she meant it. To Obi-wan, Anakin was his most trusted partner. The brother he never had. His best friend. Obi-wan would carry the weight of his loss for the rest of his life, she knew, and it pained her to see her friend in such anguish. Under different circumstances, they could have mourned together, sharing memories, leaning on each other for support.

But Padme was in no condition to mourn.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said softly, withdrawing her hand and offering a slight bow, “I think I would like to retire to my chambers now.”

Obi-wan seemed to understand, returning the gesture and bidding her farewell. When he was gone, she slumped down at her desk, her hand resting against her scalp.

Anakin was dead.

She searched inside herself for grief. After all, she _had_ loved him once. Flashes of memories chased each other through her mind: a sparkling laugh, firelight dancing across his skin, the touch of his kiss under the Geonosian sun.  

But there were other memories, too.

Memories that bruised like a knife pressed against her throat, not deep enough to break the skin, but enough to make her blood pound and heart race, enough to keep her eyes wrenched open at night.

The time she’d found him crouched in the Lars’ garage, eyes wild with a primal rage. _They were like animals, and I slaughtered them like animals._ How her every instinct had screamed at her to run, to get in the cruiser and put as much distance between herself and this dangerous creature as possible. How she’d pushed down her fear and revulsion to soothe him, feeding him soft words and forcing herself to breathe until he’d calmed down enough to make her wonder if she’d imagined the whole thing.

The time they’d fought outside the Chancellor’s office. How he’d grabbed her roughly by the shoulder, yanking her around and forcing her to look him in the eye. _As your husband, I_ demand _that you tell the Chancellor that you’re stepping down._ The awful anger in his eyes, the dim light glinting off his bared teeth. _Demand? Anakin, I’m my own person, you can’t control me like one of your droids—_ The terrible _snick_ of his gloved hand striking her face. He’d apologized for it later, of course, but that didn’t stop it from happening again.

The time she’d returned to her apartment, spirits high, face flushed from wine and laughter. How her heart stopped when she saw him sitting in the dark. Waiting for her. How he’d interrogated her about the party, about who she went with, who she talked to, not believing her frantic insistences that it was just a state function. _From now on, you’re not to go out unless I’m with you._ How she’d nodded dumbly, protests dying in her throat as she felt the danger crackling off him in waves.  

Sometimes she convinced herself that she made up the whole thing. His possessiveness was reasonable, she rationalized, after all the assassination attempts she’d survived, and all the loved ones he’d lost. His jealousy meant she was special to him, and his temper? Understandable, given the high stress nature of his job. It didn’t hurt that his boyish charm had never faded, nor had his holo-star good looks. He surprised her with flowers delivered to her office, plied her with exotic gifts from his travels, and fed her promises of a blissful future together on Naboo.

She’d often find herself on the verge of believing him, just as something would set him off.

She remembered how she crouched behind the curtain of the washroom one bad night, risking a whispered comm to her sister, terrified that his rage would escalate and he’d accidentally kill her. How her sister urged her to leave, to tell security, to tell her friends— but how could you report an abusive husband when your marriage was a secret? How could you incriminate a dashing Jedi Knight, the Chosen One, the darling of the HoloNets? Where could you hide that the most powerful Jedi ever would never find?

She stayed.

Padme was never religious, but as the days went on, she’d found herself spending more and more time in prayer. She beseeched the Goddess of Safety, the Force, the moon goddess, and the whole pantheon of Naboo’s deities, begging that her husband's deployments take him farther and farther into the Outer Rim, wishing that the galaxy would swallow him up and never let go.

Now, it looked like she’d gotten her wish.

She knew she’d bear the scars of him for the rest of her life. She might never find the strength to trust a man again, might never be free of the instinctive panic that flooded her whenever a colleague raised his voice, might never feel the touch of another’s skin without shutting down into dread.

But even as the sun set over the Coruscant sky, she couldn’t help but feel that a new dawn was breaking, a curtain opening to the rest of her life.

**Author's Note:**

> for information on how to support victims of domestic violence, go to http://www.ncadv.org/


End file.
